Coulson's Fury
by Lord Rebecca-sama
Summary: SHIELD agents aren't allowed to tell him about what happened to his trading cards. It was a top level secret, so naturally the entire staff, except Coulson, knows, and they can't tell him...ever. Plus the Avengers still don't know Coulson's alive. I guess both are out of the bag, and Phil's not happy. Oneshot. Complete.


**Oh man, Agents of SHIELD last night was fucking awesome, you have NO IDEA. This is my headcanon about what they can't tell Coulson.**

* * *

_Coulson's Fury_

"Where are they?" Phil asked, walking into Hill's office.

She set down the file in her hand and looked up at Phil. "Where's what?"

Phil scowled and clenched his fists. "You know very well what."

Hill shook her head. "Sorry, Coulson, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that shit, Hill. Where. Are. My. Trading. Cards?"

"I haven't seen them."

Phil knew she was lying, but she wouldn't tell him anything, he knew that, too. "Hill..."

"Ask Fury."

Phil's eye twitched. He really hoped he wouldn't have to go talk to Fury. "Fine." He checked the logs to see where the director was. Luckily, he was visiting Stark. Phil wanted to let the team know he was alive, anyway. Granted, he didn't want to do it like this, but beggars can't be choosers.

He drove Lola over to Stark Tower and parked in the underground garage next to Fury's car. A few SHIELD agents tried to stop him from going up, knowing that the team wasn't supposed to know he was alive, but he made quick work of them.

"Coulson," Natasha said, walking into the elevator with him.

"Romanoff. Where's Fury?"

"Living room. It's good to have you back, sir."

"You don't seem surprised to see me."

"Stark found out you were alive two days ago. He's yelling at the director now."

"Good. I have a few things I'd like to add."

The door opened and he stepped out onto the communal floor of Stark Tower.

"You don't just tell people that someone is dead, Fury! And even if you do, once the danger is over _you don't keep it that way_!" Stark yelled.

Clint, from his position on the couch, nodded at Phil in greeting. Fury was standing against the windows, watching as Phil walked onto the floor. Stark was stalking back and forth in front of Fury, waving his hands and ranting. Rogers stood off to the side with a pinched look on his face. Banner was absent, but if he listened closely he could hear banging come from a lower floor. The Hulk must be in the playroom Banner and Stark created.

"Agent Coulson," Fury said, drawing Stark and Rogers' attention to him. Phil nodded to the two of them, but kept his eyes on Fury.

"Sir, I talked to Hill and she informed me that I should speak to you over the matter of my trading cards."

It wasn't noticeable to anyone who didn't work closely with Fury on a normal basis, but he was nervous. He eye widened minutely and his hand twitched.

"Did she now?"

Rogers and Stark shared a look, while Natasha and Clint looked guilty.

Phil's eyes narrowed and he walked right up to Fury, stopping an arm's length away. "What did you do?"

"It was to motivate the team."

Phil laughed humorlessly once. "Sir, I respect you, and I understand that you have to make some difficult decisions, but where. Are. My. Cards?" His voice was soft, never raising, which made him all the more deadly.

Fury glanced at the four Avengers in the room. They glared at the director, daring him to make the wrong move. He nodded in resignation and reached into an inside pocket, pulling out a Ziploc with _his_ Captain America trading cards covered in what looked like blood. He held out the bag and Phil took it.

He opened the zipper and pulled out the cards. Yes, that was blood. Blood on his mint condition, first edition, vintage Captain America trading cards. He rubbed at one of the blood stains, scowled when it didn't come off, and tucked the cards into his suit jacket.

"Sir," Phil said, "I don't mind that you had to claim that I was dead to the team. I don't mind that you kept it a secret from them until Stark inevitably found the file in our system. But I spent _years_ of my life searching for these cards. They were in perfect condition. I kept them in my locker FOR A REASON!" Phil yelled, composure breaking.

He lunged at Fury, sending a punch towards his good eye, and kick towards his stomach. He ducked under Fury's hands, and pulled his legs out from under him. Fury landed with a _thud_ on the ground and Phil stood over him breathing heavy.

"Wow," Stark said. "I knew you were badass under that calm exterior, Agent."

"Shut up, Stark." Phil paused. "You all knew." Stark nodded.

"Sir, I hate the be the barer of bad news, but everyone at SHIELD knew about the cards," Clint said.

Phil turned towards his agent. "What?"

Natasha spoke, "No one was supposed to say anything to you."

Fury winced as he stood up. "How did you find out?"

Phil glared at the director. "I went to the Helicarrier to get the rest of my stuff out of my locker since I had transferred off the ship." He took a deep breath. "Sir, I would like to make a request to be transferred."

Fury pursed his lips. "Where?"

"To be the Avengers' handler. Your previous ones don't seem to last long." Fury scowled, but he owed him.

"Granted," he grunted. "Keep them in line, Coulson."

"I intend to, director." Phil watched Fury limp his way out of the tower. "Stark, where is there a room for me?"

"One floor down, any of the empty rooms."

Phil nodded, "Thanks," and left to find his room.

* * *

"Stark, what is this about?" Phil asked walking out of the elevator.

"Calm down, Agent, you'll seen soon enough. We're just waiting for Natasha and Legolas."

The elevator opened again. "We're here," Natasha said.

"Right," Stark said, "Now that we're all here, Spangles, go ahead."

Rogers cleared his throat. "Right, Phil, we just wanted to say thank you for...well, everything."

"Yeah, seriously," Clint cut in, "all of the other handlers were sticks in the mud. Sitwell was okay, but he still doesn't like me."

Banner tilted his head in confusion at Clint. "None of the handlers like you," he said.

Clint smiled. "It's my natural charm."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What we're trying to say, sir, is that we want to make it up to you for everything you've done for us."

Phil shook his head. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes, we do," Stark replied, pulling out a thin envelope from his pocket. "Here. We all helped look for them and then Spangles added his own touch."

Phil took the envelope and poured out the contents into his hand; he dropped the envelope in shock.

In his hand he held brand new (relatively speaking) Captain America trading cards: the same ones that now were hidden in the back of his closet covered in blood, except each of these had a signature sprawled across in black sharpie.

"You guys, found the same cards, but brand new, for me?" he asked.

"Of course," Clint said.

He held up one of the cards. "This card was only printed twenty times."

"Hello, billionaire," Stark bragged. "It was no big deal, really, Coulson."

Phil smiled at his team, minus Thor who was still back in Asgard. "Thank you."

Banner shifted, embarrassed; Steve blushed; Clint smiled back; Natasha nodded in reply; and Stark raised his ever present glass of alcohol in a toast.

The team were closer than ever. They had spent a month pranking Fury and generally making his life a living hell. No one fucked with their handler and got away with it.

Phil nodded in response and placed the cards in his coat. "Dinner's on SHIELD." Just because the month of hell for Fury was over didn't mean Phil was done with his payback.

Stark smirked. "I know the perfect restaurant. Great food, expensive wine."

"Sounds good," Clint replied. "Do they deliver?"

"'Do they deliver?'. Birdbrain, I'm Tony Stark, of _course_ they deliver."

Phil smiled at their banter and followed them into the kitchen to look at the menu. The team wasn't perfect, but they were his, and he wouldn't trade them for any other missions in the world.

_The End._


End file.
